


Darkness in the Light

by EmeryldLuk



Series: Supernatural AU [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Goodbyes, Grief/Mourning, Immortality, Jackdaw - Freeform, Kill the Devil, LGBTQ Character, Men of Letters, Nonbinary Character, Nostalgia, Original Character(s), Other, Pagan Gods, Power of Faith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27719972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeryldLuk/pseuds/EmeryldLuk
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester ask Jackdaw for their help in killing the Devil. Upon agreeing, Jackdaw makes the rounds to settle accounts. They know there's a chance this could be the end.
Series: Supernatural AU [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1024764





	1. Chapter 1

After a shower, he rummaged through the closet for suitable clothes. Bobby had a surprising amount of decent clothes despite the grungy stuff the man wore on a daily basis. Selecting a white undershirt, a gray button up, and a pair of black slacks, Leroy got dressed and went down the stairs with his blood stained and torn clothes.

Bobby glowered at him over a glass of whiskey. "You better not trash those."

Leroy took a seat at the table and picked up his jacket. "I'll pay you if that'll help."

"You got the spare cash?"

Leroy took out his wallet and pulled out three twenty dollar bills. Bobby took the money with vivid surprise and suspicion. He flipped the bills over to confirm they were real.

"Jesus Christ, girl."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

Leroy put away his wallet. "Call me a girl. I'm a god. I don't have a gender."

Bobby wrinkled his nose and took a drink. "Whatever. Ya look like a girl to me."

"You look like an old fart bag."

"I'll have you know-"

"That you're what? Older than me? Wiser? Stronger?" Leroy set his feet up on the table. "Fuck off, Bobby. You're not as tough as you like to think."

"Yer name's Layla and you got a pair of boobs. Yer a Lady."

"So if I cut off your dick, will you start calling yourself Betty?"

He spit out a mouthful of whiskey. "If you even-"

"Like I said. I'm a god." Leroy cracked his neck. "Sure, I was named Layla, but I've been a guy just as much as a gal. Got married as Leroy Jackdaw. My kids call me dad."

"You have kids?"

"Adopted ones, but yes."

Bobby sat back in his wheelchair. "Hard to imagine, what with how young you look."

"Makes family reunions awkward," Leroy joked. "I stay away, for their sake. My life isn't like it used to be."

Bobby poured himself another glass. "You want some?"

Leroy shook his head.

"So, what was your life like?"

"Private Detective. I'm still certified. All I have to do is take a test every few years."

Bobby said, "Must make things easy for investigating."

"Most of the time. There can be hiccups."

"Still."

Leroy brought his feet down. "I started after World War Two. Came home, set up an agency in St. Louis. That was how I lived for thirty years."

"Came home from what? The war?"

"That's what I said. Enlisted as a battlefield nurse. Best way to get out of dodge for a couple of years."

Bobby drank, eyebrows rising. "What'd you do, kill someone important?"

"Nah, just got framed for one. My mentor got killed by a demon and the police blamed me."

"Harsh. But enlisting? Wouldn't they catch you that way?"

Leroy smirked. "Background checks weren't as complete back then. Plus, I enlisted as Layla. They were looking for Leroy."

"Okay, not so stupid."

There was a thud, and a crash of glass hitting the floor.

"Fuck," Dean yelled and kicked the couch. Sam and Castiel stepped around the couch, coming into the kitchen looking like a fireplace coughed on them.

"What happened to you?" Leroy asked.

"Demon with a flamethrower," Dean muttered, kicking aside a broken glass. "And another dead end."

Sam pulled a couple of beers out of the fridge and handed one to Dean. "Hopefully, it won't matter."

Castiel dusted himself off. "Your idea is borderline insane."

"At least it has a chance of working." Sam chugged half the bottle. "What do you think, Layla?"

"Of what?"

"Didn't you explain?" Sam turned to Bobby.

Bobby retorted, "Didn't come up."

Leroy sighed. "Sam, quit pussy-footing and spit it out."

Sam pulled out a chair and faced him. "We saw you roast a room full of Gods, no sweat."

"Cursed Flames," Leroy said. "Not exactly a clean kill. There's a good reason your winged buddy wants me dead."

"But you could kill Lucifer," Sam insisted. "Couldn't you?"

Leroy tapped a finger on his lips. "Can't say for sure. I caught them by surprise. A straight up fight with an angel would have risks."

"Doesn't any fight?"

"I've had close calls, Sam. I'm not all-powerful."

Sam ground his teeth. "If you can't help," he started.

Leroy cut him off. "Not what I meant. I'm a god, not a demon. My strength depends on those that believe in me. It sounds cheesy, but the more people that know about me, that believe in me or worship me so-to-speak, the stronger I am."

Bobby inquired, "How the heck does that work when you erase everyone's memories?"

Leroy scowled at Bobby. "I don't erase everyone. Just people that pose a risk. Plus, the stronger the faith, the more it matters. You want me to kill Lucifer? You're gonna have to put your heart and soul on the line. It might help if Feathers stops wishing me dead."

"Not a chance," Castiel said, turning away.

Dean set down his empty beer bottle. "Okay. If we can get more people to believe in you, you'll get stronger?"

Leroy nodded.

"Well, that's easy," Sam said. When everyone looked at him in askance, he shrugged. "The internet of course. It's not going to be heart and soul, but there's plenty of sites where you can put up a story for people that will eat it up. We dealt with one of those before, remember?"

Dean snapped his fingers. "Right, those Ghost-whatevers."

"Ghost facers," Sam corrected. He explained to Bobby and Leroy, "They'd invented this ghost story and put up a bunch of random symbols in an abandoned house as a joke, but one of those symbols was real and created a Tulpa. The story they published online became real, but only what was written."

"A tulpa isn't going to help me, Sam," Leroy argued.

"Maybe, but if we put lore about you online, it would increase how many people believe in you right?"

Leroy thought about it. He didn't really have a good answer for them. He knew numbers mattered. Older gods had probably forgotten because of how long it had been since they had ruled supreme, but numbers always mattered. If you were forgotten, you became weak; vulnerable to the simplest of weapons.

"Do you know where Lucifer is?" Leroy asked.

"Detroit," Dean answered. "At least, that's where the final showdown is supposed to happen."

"Okay."

The boys looked at each other. "So, you'll do it?" Sam asked. "You'll kill Lucifer."

"I'll do my damnedest to. There's half a chance he'll kill me instead if I'm not fast enough."

"Great. Anything we can do?" Dean offered, "Like write up stuff online or something."

Leroy sighed. "You can drive me back to my motel for starters. I need to make some calls and I left my phone in the room."

"It will be faster if I take you," Castiel said, striding up to Leroy with an open hand.

Leroy rushed to his feet, stumbling over the chair the get away from Castiel. "What did I say about touching me, Feathers?"

"I will not hurt you. Dean has forbidden it."

"Maybe but I can still feel how much you hate me. Hands off."

"It would be faster," Castiel insisted.

Dean said, "It's okay, Cass. I could use a good long drive anyway. Layla, c'mon."

"Call me Jackdaw," Leroy ordered. "If we're going for godhood, it starts with the name."

"What kind of name is Jackdaw?" Dean muttered.

"The kind I like. So, get used to it."

Leroy packed up and hit the road. He wasn't sure where he was going until he stopped at the highway rest stop to fuel up. Waiting for his order from Burger King, his phone started to ring. He ignored it.

The phone rang again as his order was brought up. Leroy took the bag and went to find a table to eat at.

He sighed at the third call, halfway through his burger.

"Jackdaw here."

"Dad, Why didn't you pick up the phone?" Abigail said on the other end.

Leroy sighed. "I've had a long day. Why are you even calling?"

"It's Brady. He was hit by a drunk driver and is in the ICU."

"He's alive?" Leroy pushed away the rest of the burger.

Abigail sniffed. "Just barely. Are you nearby? I could really use you right now."

"Well, I need coffee and a cigarette, but I can probably make it back to St. Louis by morning."

"North Western Hospital. I'll make sure to have donuts from that shop you like," Abigail promised.

"They still exist?"

"Yes. Chocolate?"

"Whatever works. See you later." Leroy hung up and rubbed his eyes. He looked down at his phone and dialed a long number.

The line rang several times. Ready to hang up, Leroy started when an unfamiliar voice answered.

"Hello, Rikash Services."

Leroy frowned and glanced at the dialed number. "This is Jackdaw. Is Murdock available?"

There was a pause. "Murdock has been transferred to the Northern outpost. My name is Rebecca. How can I help you, Jackdaw?"

"I've been out of contact for thirty years. Is anyone else from that era available?"

The woman paused, humming to herself. "I'm sorry. What do you mean? I'm new."

"Did no one tell you about the American Branch?"

"There is no American Branch."

"Right, because everyone else died in a demon attack in 1958. Except for me, Jackdaw. Look, Rebecca, I have had a very long day. Nearly died once and I have a seven hour drive ahead of me. Please put me through to an elder."

"Please hold for a minute," Rebecca said in an overly sweet tone. The line went quiet and then slow jazz started playing way too loudly. Leroy moved the phone away from his ear.

After a few minutes passed, he set the phone to speaker and finished eating his burger and fries. As the jazz still played, he tucked the phone into his pocket and went out to the convenience store to buy coffee and a pack of cigarettes.

"Hello, this is Dr. Everest Jones. To Whom am I speaking?"

Leroy dug out the phone and interrupted Jones repeating himself. "Jones, this is Jackdaw. You do remember me, right?"

The line went silent. Leroy waited.

"Jones?" Leroy said after a long while.

"My apologies. To all accounts, Jackdaw died decades ago. How can I be sure you are he?"

"In 1969, we worked on a project together. The British wanted to know if it was possible to detect a monster's presence. I volunteered as a guinea pig and you wanted to know why I would agree to it. I told you, 'Better let it be me than to risk lives with catching monsters'."

Dr. Everest chuckled. "I think I called you soft at that. Bless my heart, Jackdaw. When you dropped out of contact, we assumed the worst. What happened?"

"Amelia died." Leroy lit up a cigarette. "I wanted to find the demon that did it, but just never dug myself out of that rut."

"Sorry to hear that. What about the kids? I remember you had a son and daughter."

"Safe, for the most part. Both of them were out of the house by then. Living their own lives." Leroy took a drag. "Good to know you're still kicking."

"Not many of us old folks left. Burbage died a few years ago." Dr. Everest took a deep breath. "Cancer, the poor man. He was so lost in his work, it was too late by the time any of us noticed."

"The new people don't even know I exist."

"We try not to tell them until level two. The complications of working with the kind of thing we don't even let live these days."

"You mean, you got those defenses working?"

"Yes," Dr. Everest confirmed, "all of them, up and running to perfection. Haven't had a death in years. Course, if you want to visit, all you have to do is call ahead. We'll have a welcoming team at the airport for you."

Leroy laughed. "I don't know if that's a good or bad thing. Congrats, in any case. I'm glad getting poked and prodded for a month was worth it."

"My thanks. Ah, I should let you know, we are very concerned about current events. Do you have any operations in progress? Perhaps its time for a little American-British cooperation."

"No, Jones, not this time." Leroy switched hands, still smoking. "What I need is your faith."

"My faith?"

"Couple of hunters I'm familiar with need my help with killing the devil. Sounds crazy, but I think I can manage it if I just get enough faith again."

"I don't know about that, Jackdaw. Might have worked in the old days after the war, but we're not big on prayer anymore. At least, not like in the past. These new initiates don't see church like that."

"Can you at least try? Spread the word that I'm alive, or something. Lucifer isn't a pushover."

"I will certainly inform the others. I can't make any promises on those that don't personally know you."

"That'll be enough, thank you."

"I do say, you have a habit of going on the suicide missions, don't you."

"It helps to be immortal. Have a good day, Jones."

Dr. Everest quickly asked, "How do we contact you? The old number no longer works."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I closed down my detective shop. This phone number is best. I will let you know when I have an official outpost again."

"Very good. I look forward to working together again."

Leroy stayed where he was for awhile after hanging up, finishing his smoke and indulging in nostalgic memories. So much time had passed and he had simply let himself forget everything. He'd forgotten friends and alliances, sadness and laughs. All of that had been lost in a life filled with hunting and monsters.


	2. Chapter 2

The Morning

The hospital was, of course, nothing like he remembered, but then Leroy had not stepped foot in the hospital in over thirty years. He stepped inside the main lobby and stared around with mild confusion.

"You made it." Abigail's brown eyes were shadowed with lack of sleep. Leroy zeroed in on her auburn curls and tried to smile, but the feeling got lost somewhere. Abigail wrapped Leroy in a big hug. "Thank you."

"Always. Any updates?"

"Brady is stable, but unconscious." Abigail handed Leroy a half-dozen box of donuts. "Dave is sitting with him right now, so be polite, please."

Leroy started on the first, a double chocolate, as Abigail lead the way to the room.

"Dr. Adams says he's not sure when Brady will wake up. He is hopeful. Keeps saying there's no risk of Brady dying, but I know things can happen: surprises."

"But Brady is still alive," Leroy said, licking chocolate off his thumb. "That's good."

Leroy followed Abigail up the stairs. She stopped for a second, smiling sadly. "Yes, and no. Dad, how did you ever manage to raise me and Henry without any accidents?"

"With great difficulty. You had some close calls over the years. Which way?"

Abigail pointed left. Leroy offered his arm and she took it.

"Mom was amazing," she whispered. "I never could be as sweet as her. Sandy thinks I'm overbearing."

"I miss her," Leroy admitted softly, so only Abigail could hear. "Did I tell you how we met?"

"Stalker case," Abigail said.

"I guess if you want to be general. No, she worked at a bar in the 1940's. A bar I frequented, but we didn't talk much before she came to me and my partner about a stalker. She was just the super cute barmaid."

"And you never asked her out?"

"Wasn't a thing I cared about back then. We didn't exactly have a normal courtship period. There was a lot of running and fighting."

"Sounds perfect for you two. Here we are."

They turned into the hospital room. A young man laid in the bed, hooked up to a machine monitoring vitals. Sitting in a chair with a cup of coffee was an older man with a receding hairline of dark hair and somber eyes. He looked up and frowned with no mal-intent at Leroy.

"You still haven't changed," he commented.

"Dave," Abigail scolded.

David Thompson gave an inch. "At least I know who will be standing at my grave in the end."

Leroy went to the bedside and touched Brady's cheek. "I thought you didn't believe."

"I didn't," Dave said. "Not until now. It's been decades, but you still look the same as you did at the wedding."

Abigail glanced between them, nervous.

Dave continued, "I'm not sure what you are, but it would be idiotic of me to ignore the obvious."

"I'm a god," Leroy stated.

"You're kidding."

"Not one bit."

"I was going to guess at vampire," Dave said, folding his hands in his lap. Leroy sat at the foot of the bed to eat another donut. In the awkward silence, Abigail found her way to the open chair and set down her purse.

"So, a god?" Dave cast the query to Abigail. She gave a small smile.

"I'm adopted, Dave. I told you that ages ago."

"Yes, but, I'm a bit confused." Dave turned to Leroy again. "When you say, a god, what do you mean?"

"I am Jackdaw, child of Hecate. You know me as Leroy, but I also go by the name Layla."

"So, are you a girl or a boy?"

Leroy glared. "I am a god. Anything else is irrelevant."

"Yes, but-"

"Did I stutter?" Leroy's eyes turned black and the lights flickered.

Dave shrank back in his chair.

"Dad, stop it!" Abigail stood up. "Dave means no harm."

Leroy breathed and the room returned to normal. "Sorry. Long day."

She took his hands. "Sit down. Close your eyes for a bit. You came all this way because I asked. No one is going anywhere."

Dave hurried to his feet. "I am going to go get something to eat actually."

"Okay, dear."

Dave left and Leroy sat in his chair. He could feel Abigail's hands shaking.

"I lost my temper," Leroy said. "That's been happening a lot lately."

She relaxed a little, putting a hand on Leroy's cheek. "Get some rest, Dad. I'll be right here when you wake up."

Leroy looked over at Brady. "He's dreaming, you know. I can feel it; being stuck in a dream."

"Dad," Abigail pressed, "sleep. Seriously, you can be so difficult."

Leroy woke up after a fitful nap in the chair, slumped back with legs out straight and arms folded tight over his chest. He blinked groggily and sat up. He could hear Abigail's voice as cheery as ever, in conversation. He had the strange feeling of having a dream that was hastily fleeting.

"What time is it?" He asked in a dry voice and then coughed.

"Just past one," Abigail answered. "Coffee?"

"Water," Leroy countered. The room came back into focus. Abigail got up from her chair, which sat next to Dave's chair. Dave had a cup of coffee in his hands.

"I'm sorry," Dave said in the silence that followed. "I'm not used to, well, youngsters and their new ways."

"That is a horrible apology," Leroy muttered.

"At least I'm trying," Dave protested.

"Do me a favor and stop trying. I'm older than you."

"I know, I just mean-"

"Stop." Leroy rested his head in his hands. "You don't need to finish that sentence."

Abigail came back with a cup of water. "Honestly, the nurses in this place barely even care if you're not a patient. Here you go, Dad."

Leroy took the cup. "Thank you. Did I miss anything?"

"No," she said, "no changes all day. Feeling better?"

"Less tired, but still hating life. The past year has been horrible."

Abigail sat back down. "Sorry, did you and Jack break up?"

"He got exorcised. And my other friends died."

"I'm so sorry. You never called."

Leroy nodded. "I know. I didn't want to put you at risk. Not after what happened to your mother."

"That wasn't you fault," Abigail said.

"Course it was. I'm the one that let the demons track me home. I was so distracted that night."

"Dad," Abigail faltered, unable to find the right words to console Leroy.

Leroy shook his head. "It's okay. I have to move on. I spent the last thirty years avoiding it so much I ignored everything that mattered."

"Like your family?" Dave asked sarcastically.

"Yes. I walked away and I shouldn't have. I don't even know anything about Brady."

Abigail took Dave's hand. "Will you stick around then?"

"If I can. There's things going on right now that I have to deal with though."

"Anything we can help with?"

Leroy shifted in his chair. He wondered what he could say.

He began with a hint of sadness. "I'm not very old. I know compared to humans, I am, but in terms of being a god, I'm barely more than a child. The rest of those like me are horrible and ancient and obsessed with their glory days and eating humans. I've had a hard time with that, because I'm always hopeful to meet another god that doesn't see humans as little more than livestock.

"When I first learned that I wasn't human, I was scared. I didn't have my mother or father to explain why I couldn't die, or why I could move things with my mind. No one to tell me why Iron burned my skin. I didn't even know I was a god until after I met Amelia. It was her who figured it out when I came back from the War.

"Your mother, Abi, was an angel in so many ways. With her I learned I could be so much more than a creature of darkness and death. I didn't have to kill. And without her, my grief overwhelmed all of that. I've been wandering for so long that I forgot I can do so much more than fight."

"And now?" Abigail inquired, "What do you mean to do?"

"Be a god." Leroy stood up and took off his jacket. Dave and Abigail traded looks. Leroy rolled up his sleeves and moved to the side of the bed. He laid one hand on Brady's forehead and the other on Brady's sternum. Leroy's eyes turned black.

"What are you doing?" Dave jolted to his feet.

Brady gasped, his eyes opened, filled with white light as his body stiffened in an arc. The machines went off, beeping like crazy. Dave yelled, but Abigail grabbed hold of him before he could do anything to get in the way.

Then it was over. Brady went limp and his eyes closed. The machines still rang the red alert, but Leroy stepped back with a shaky breath.

Abigail let Dave rush to Brady's side. He laid hands on the young man, checking that he was still alive and still warm.

By the time the nurses ran in to see what was wrong, Leroy had gone without a trace. Abigail wondered when she'd missed him leaving. The donuts were gone too, though she couldn't remember him picking up the box again either.

As Abigail stood there with Dave, puzzling over what had happened, Brady opened his eyes properly and asked where he was.


	3. Chapter 3

Three Days Later, Tennessee

Layla drove past the town sign with his heart in his throat. He could still remember when he last traveled past it, with a full car. Eight years ago, she had been happily entrenched in the hunter lifestyle. She'd been with Jack and Edmond was getting used to his undead life.

Layla stopped at the central gas station to fill up the tank and ask for directions. Being a small town, the attendant knew exactly who he was asking for based on the last name.

He rolled up the farm house and swallowed hard. The classic chevy pickup truck sitting in the driveway had eight years of wear and rust on it, but it was the same one that had been there before.

Layla opened the trunk of his car and pulled out the roller suitcase and medium, pink duffel with flower stickers on the luggage tag.

The front door of the farmhouse opened with a creak and a bang of metal on wood. A woman with graying hair, wearing a floral print dress hurried down the steps.

"It's you. You're back," the woman said with a gasp. "But where's Alice? Did she stop in town?"

Layla closed the trunk. "We should go inside, Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh, of course. Do you need a hand?"

Layla shouldered the luggage. "No, thank you. I got it."

Mrs. Hudson opened the door for him and Layla carried the luggage into the foyer.

"Who is it, Maeble?"

"It's that Hunter lass," Mrs. Hudson responded, shutting the door firmly. "The one Alice went traveling with."

Mr. Hudson, a thin man in plaid and a stiff beard, walked into view. He dried his hands on a towel and searched the room with his eyes.

"Well, where is she?"

Layla put down the duffel. "She's dead."

Mrs. Hudson stared. "What?"

"Alice died. I'm sorry."

"You're lying," Mr. Hudson said.

Layla looked down, remaining quiet.

"You're lying!"

Mrs. Hudson dropped, hands over her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes. Her words choked.

Mr. Hudson yelled, "You promised to protect her. You said she would be fine!"

"I'm sorry," Layla repeated.

He yelled a few more times before losing the energy to do so. Then he and Layla helped Mrs. Hudson to her rocking chair.

Mr. Hudson shakily found his way to the recliner and lowered himself into the cushions. He rubbed his hands together and clenched them in his lap.

"What happened; how did she die?"

Layla found his way to the couch. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Just tell me she wasn't in pain."

"It was over in an instant," Layla said. "She didn't feel it happen."

He pressed his hands to his mouth. Mrs. Hudson blotted her face with her sleeve, still sobbing uncontrollably.

"Did you get the guy that did it?"

Layla nodded. He bit his lip, feeling his own tears rising up behind his eyes. "I got them all. They'll never hurt anyone ever again."

Mr. Hudson nodded, pain etching itself into his wrinkles. He took a breath to ask something else, but the words vanished before he could say them.

"I'll give you two some time." Layla got up. "I'll be outside."

Layla always kept photographs of the people he met. He'd started during World War Two; collecting photographs of her patients, of the people she served beside and saved and lost. He kept them in a journal, pasted into the pages with names and notes of when and why.

The first page was a memorial to Rodrigo. The photo was of when Layla passed her first initiation. Rodrigo had been ecstatic and paid for dinner at a five star restaurant and a photo to remember the day by.

The war had filled several pages. Many of them were people she had only known for an hour or two, perhaps a day before they succumbed to injury. Then she'd met Dustin Gregorovitch, Man of Letters from Britain.

She could still recall the sound of cannon fire and the fire of the trenches on the day that she'd pulled Dustin out of harm's way and revealed her own inhuman nature. That was the start.

The pages filled up over the years. Layla had been wondering what he would do when the journal had no more pages left. He flipped through them now, thinking of those he could no longer see and those he wanted to see more of.

"She was happy?"

Layla looked up and saw Mr. Hudson walking down the driveway towards him. He still had that broken look, but there was stubbornness in his eyes now.

"She always wrote home about the things she saw, the places she visited," Mr. Hudson explained. "The last letter was from a couple months ago. So, how were the past couple months?"

Layla closed his journal, running his fingers over the embossed leather.

"It was me and her. Jack and Edmond were gone. I don't know if she ever mentioned it."

"She didn't, no."

"We spent a week in Houston, just for the fun. She insisted. Up until the end, she was doing her best to be happy and enjoy life."

Mr. Hudson did his best to smile. "Good. That's the best way for her."

Layla nodded. "How's Mrs. Hudson?"

"A wet mess," Mr. Hudson said. "I couldn't stand the crying."

"That's not very nice," Layla muttered.

"It's not manly to cry."

"Why do all the men I talk to lately have such backwards and horrible opinions on life?"

Mr. Hudson glared at Layla. He ranted on, feeling the anger rise in his throat.

"I have lived through four wars, Mr. Hudson. I have seen cities in flames and men torn to shreds by other men. You can't just bury the pain, Mr. Hudson. The pain will eat you alive if you do nothing. It will turn you into a monster. So, do not mock your wife's tears just because you are afraid to feel weak or so help me I will take you to see your daughter in person."

"You wouldn't," Mr. Hudson stammered.

"Can't know until I try."

"But that's murder."

"You wouldn't be the first, Mr. Hudson. Now go back inside and sit with your wife. She needs you right now."

"What about you then? I don't see you crying."

"I did my crying already. Go back inside then."

Mr. Hudson huffed and puffed for a whole minute before storming off back inside. Layla opened his journal again and looked down at the last page and Alice's smile.

South Dakota

Sam picked up his ringing cell phone and put aside his research book. "Layla?"

"What did I say about my name?" She said over the phone.

He corrected himself. "Jackdaw. I saw the videos. You've been busy."

"Best way to get a following, right?"

"Better than a blog." Sam crossed his legs. "I didn't know you could heal though."

"I haven't used my more godly powers in a long time. Anyway, that's not why I called."

"Do you need us?"

"No, sorry. Nothing like that." Layla paused. "I need you and Dean to lay low for a couple of weeks. No hunting, no demons, no angels, no nothing."

"Dean's not going to like that," Sam shared.

"I get it, but if your feathery buddies get antsy, they might try and drag you to the battlefield. I want Lucifer to stay put, expecting you to come to him."

"Alright, but how are we supposed to hide from demons for two weeks?"

"I'm emailing you a warding design. Put it around Bobby's house. Use Bobby as the anchor. Only he's allowed in or out. That's how it works. No one will be able to track you, trace you, find you in any fashion so long as he keeps his mouth shut and doesn't bring in strangers."

Sam shoved papers off of his laptop, opening his email. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Of course not. I'm the last one who knows how to make this kind of warding. Anyway, instructions are attached. Two weeks. I mean it. This is the part about faith where you and Dean have to trust me completely. A regular sacrifice wouldn't hurt either."

"A sacrifice?" Sam turned away from the table. "We are not killing anyone or anything for you."

"Never said you did. I'm not that picky. I'd be okay with milk and cookies if that's what you had to offer. Food is always a good offering, but not necessary. You two trusting me completely is enough. Anything else is extra."

Sam laughed. "Milk and cookies?"

"or Donuts. I like donuts. You got it? Ward the house and stay put. I gotta go. Got a twelve hour drive to Peru, Illinois where there's an eight year old boy about to die from Leukemia."

Layla ended the call and finished smoking. The sun hung on the horizon, reaching to stay in sight a minute longer with streaks of red and purple.

A young man in jeans and an AC/DC band shirt jogged over from the station with two paper bags in hand. His kinky dark hair poofed out behind his head where the dreads ended.

"Done with your call?" Keke asked, handing one of the bags to her.

"Yeah. We're all set for the next phase." She opened the bag and took out one of the hotdogs still warm from the grill. "You all set? It's going to be a long night."

"Redbull and brats. I am ready to roll."

"Alright, I'll be in as soon as I eat."

Keke got in on the passenger side. Layla waited for the sun to be gone before getting behind the wheel.


	4. Chapter 4

Ten Days Later, New York City

"Hits on the video from yesterday are on the rise, but we have some trolls in the comments like always, claiming this is all cgi or a hoax. Do you want me to do the same as before?"

Keke absently grabbed fries from the carton, tapping the down arrow on his laptop. He was talking to Layla as she sat across the table, but he didn't break his line of sight.

Layla slurped noisily at a large fountain drink. She'd heard his question, but was also watching a mother outside, trying to convince her daughter to keep walking.

"How is the feedback on the previous uploads?" she asked after a moment.

He glanced up this time, a little taken aback by her blank tone. "Not great, but it cuts back on the trolls."

"We should try something else then. How do you feel about shooting live?"

Keke winced. "Doable, but not fun. I won't be able to cut anything out. Like how you tend to talk to the locals."

Layla rolled her eyes and popped a chicken nugget into her mouth. "I don't need the world to like me."

"But it does help." He tapped away at the keyboard, navigating the browser. "People like believing in good."

"Well, that's utter bullshit. Good is a delusion."

He smirked. "So you say. Okay, we'll run live this afternoon. I'll have to shift my filters real quick. You might want to put on some makeup before we head out."

"Fine." She licked her fingers clean of barbecue sauce. "Give me ten minutes."

"I'm not going anywhere," Keke murmured under his breath as Layla pushed her chair back.

She was in the bathroom for no more than ten minutes. When she came out, her face was decidedly less pale with a slight flush in her cheeks. Keke darted a look over the edge of his laptop, still typing.

"Much better. After today, you should take a break. You're healing people way too much."

"I'm fine."

"Liar." He ate another handful of fries. "You're using too much energy. So, I'll order a bunch of pizzas tonight and you are going to take tomorrow off. We'll go for a bunch of small miracles on Saturday. It won't hurt, Jackdaw, so don't argue with me."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it. Whatever works I guess."

He hit the enter key. "Okay, post made. We'll be live at three o'clock."

Layla checked her watch. "Which means we have an hour to get to the hospital and get into place."

"Correct." He began to pack up. "Twenty minutes to get there. Ten in and out of the car. Fifteen to get into the hospital and talk to the doctor. Give or take."

"Sounds about right." Layla ate the last of her chicken nuggets and cleared off the table.

"Can I ask," Keke asked as they walked down to the parking lot, "Why are you pushing yourself so hard?"

"Don't have the time to move slow," she avoided. "No other reason."

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes behind her back. "Honestly, Jackdaw. The stories I've heard."

"Are just stories, Keke. I'll tell you more when you're ready." She stepped off the sidewalk and into the parking lot. He hurried the last few steps as she unlocked the car doors.

"My pops told me stories about Grandpa. You know, from the war." Keke buckled into the seat as the car started moving.

Layla sighed. "Don't they always. Did he tell you about the angel on the battlefield or the vampire?"

Keke was taken aback for a second. "Both, actually. Also about the God of War."

"Terrible stories to tell a child," she muttered.

"Wouldn't be here without them," He said.

"I suppose."

Keke watched the street going by. "Are they true?"

"To some extent. Depends on what creative license your pops took with the story. Keke, we've gone over this."

"I know, but I can't help being curious. You try growing up on mystical stories and legends only to find out it was all true."

Layla didn't respond, focused on navigating through the intersection without crashing.

"I was a nurse," She said. "Your Grandfather was a private brought in with shrapnel peppering his leg. It wasn't anything new, but he took awhile to recover and the hospital was attacked."

"Did you save the day?"

"Hardly- Fucking idiot." Layla slammed on the brakes and a motorcycle sped in front. "Hardly what happened. I got shot and heroically survived long enough to buy everyone else time. Your grandfather played dead the entire time and saw me get up afterwards. Course, no one believed him and I ran to a different front."

"You just ran?"

"A bunch of people just saw me die. One of them saw me not die. Imagine the questions."

"Yes, but won't the military notice?"

"Not right away. You'd be surprised how much they don't care so long as you can help. There was a war on after all."

"So, that was it?"

"For awhile. Satisfied?"

Keke grinned. "You were the angel on the battlefield."

"I'm no angel. Honestly, Keke, angels are annoying douchebags. I've only met one that didn't want me dead on sight."

"Wait, angels are real?"

"Among other things. Okay, enough personal questions. We're here."

"Hey, you!"

"You can't be in here."

"Miss, this area is approved visitors only."

"Is he recording?"

"You really can't be in here without permission."

"Why are you recording?"

"I said stop!"

Layla whirled, hand coming up. The attending nurse lifted off the floor and hit the wall with a grunt and dropped back to the tiles with the sound of the air rushing out of his lungs.

Layla threatened, "Next person to touch me will be permanently removed from the ground. Now, get out of my way."

The three nurses, doctor and five security personnel around her and Keke took a step back. And then the doctor stepped forward.

"All due respect, but the ICU is restricted access," She said.

Layla jammed her hands into her pockets. "Who are you then?"

"Doctor MacShane. Please, if you would just go-"

"No."

"Pardon."

Layla breathed deep. "No. I am going to keep walking until I find the person I am looking for."

"Miss-"

"The name is Jackdaw and I have a life to save. Get out of my way."

The doctor looked about to argue when one of the guards spoke up.

"Hang on. You're Jackdaw?"

MacShane swiveled. "You know her?"

"Them, Doctor. And not exactly." The guard licked his lips. "It's a vlog that's gone viral over the past week. Jackdaw goes around healing those about to die, the terminally ill. I've only seen a couple of the videos. My friend is a fan, you see."

"Healing?"

Layla stepped up to the doctor, a breath away from her. "Feel free to watch. That's the whole point. I want people to see, to question, to believe. We're live today in fact."

MacShane gaped. "Preposterous," she blurted.

"Move." Layla hardly gave the doctor time to do so, pushing her aside and walking fast through the wall of people. Keke swiftly kept pace, camera balanced on his shoulder.

The guard that spoke tagged along. "My name's Akesh by the way."

Layla ignored him, her eyes roving over the rooms they passed.

Akesh glanced back at the camera. "Is this how it works? You go to hospitals and heal people?"

"Shut up, Akesh," Layla snapped. "I'm busy."

"Sorry."

She halted and made a sharp turn into the curtained room on the left. The person in the bed laid hooked up to a ventilator. Akesh held back the curtain for Keke and Layla moved up to the bed.

MacShane strode in and scolded, "This is ridiculous. Faith cannot heal in the place of science."

"What is their diagnoses," Layla inquired, laying a hand on the youth's arm.

The doctor scowled at the camera and picked up the chart hanging off the bed. "Pneumonia. Medical history says they have a weakened immune system and asthma. Even better reasons for you not to be in here."

"No. Even more a reason for me to be here. Take them off the ventilator."

MacShane checked the chart again. "He'll die," she protested.

"He'll die either way, but I can't heal him with the tubes down his throat. Do it."

"Akesh, get them out of here," MacShane ordered.

"Akesh, don't move," Layla countermanded. Akesh hesitated, his face twisted in indecision between the two.

In the end, he pleaded, "Doctor MacShane, Please don't make me."

MacShane huffed. "Whole lot of good you are. I'll have your pay docked for this."

Akesh smiled weakly. "Grand statement, but I don't really care right now."

One of the machines suddenly started beeping loudly, lines on the screen going straight. Layla ground her teeth.

"Either remove the tubes, or I will, Doctor. Time is running out."

MacShane moved around the bed, standing across from Layla over the patient. She lifted his eyelid and shined a light over the pupil. "He's losing brain function. I need a cart!"

Layla grabbed MacShane's hand. With a gasp, MacShane jumped back.

"You're ice cold!"

"Remove the tubes. If I do it, it will do damage to his esophagus."

Doctor MacShane nodded slowly. "I need the clamps. Nurse!"

Layla stepped back to allow the nurses room. The machine kept beeping like a persistent alarm, ringing in her ears. Then it suddenly stopped. With a glance, Layla saw the machines still blinking, but the noise was gone.

"Clear," MacShane called, pulling the last of the ventilator tube free. Layla moved swiftly, placing her hands on the youth. Light filled the room for a second and then vanished.

The beeping returned, but now indicating a heartbeat where there had been none a moment before. MacShane rushed back to the bedside.

"Pulse is steady," she announced. "Breathing on his own. That's impossible."

"People usually call it a miracle," Layla said.

"I don't believe in God," MacShane retorted with a hint of side-eye. "Miracles don't happen."

"I don't believe in God either," Layla muttered. "Never shows up when you need him."

"Was that a joke?"

"Nope. Keke, time to go."


End file.
